"Everyone, freeze! Stand guard right where you are!" Drow, without saying a word, waved the agreed-upon tactical hand signal.
If it hadn’t been for Drow’s tily control, any rustle of wind or blade of grass might have caused the ’reactive’ Elves to scatter in panic.
Yet, despite holding their breath and remaining on guard for over half an hour, they encountered no Bear Goblins, Kobolds, or Half-Dragon Elves.
"What should we do? Retreat, or...?" the Elf Yevgeny whispered.
"Do you dare?" Drow scoffed, indifferent to their unspoken predicant.
With her soul firmly in the hands of their Red Dragon master, Drow, who should have cherished her life, had beco unusually fearless.
I would dare if I could, Yevgeny thought; she too had beco fearless after being denied death countless tis. But with our souls cramped in a shared prism, *you* wouldn’t let !
If she dared harbor a single thought of refusal, she couldn’t imagine what unspeakable punishnt this devil, Drow, would inflict.
However, after everything she had endured recently, she had almost grown accustod to it.
Before this, it seed Drow had played every trick imaginable—and so unimaginable. Yevgeny, having endured countless ordeals in body, mind, and soul, now harbored a faint expectation that Drow might deliver so new, unexpected thrills and surprises.
Such explosively intense experiences and emotional journeys, if undergone by soone like David, would probably have skyrocketed his Lust attribute to at least triple digits.
It was a pity David, even if he could guess, would likely not want to undergo such an extraordinary, non-human, non-dragon experience.
He might first beco a toy broken by Drow before ever evolving into a god-tier creature.
"We might be in luck; this seems like an empty nest," Yevgeny’s spirit ’whispered’ in Drow’s ear from within the prism.
"Not very likely," Drow said, pushing Yevgeny’s ethereal face away with a frown.
Just as all the Elves were breathing a collective sigh of relief, thinking they could smoothly escape this harrowing adventure, two swooshing sounds suddenly tore through the low sky.
"A Dragon is coming! Run for it!!!"
No one knew which Elf had suddenly lost their nerve and scread.
Over two hundred Elf prisoners of war instantly scattered in all directions like panic-stricken hamsters.
Even the previously fearless Drow and Yevgeny were no exception.
After all, if a Dragon appeared—any Dragon—it ant their master’s pre-set objective had been achieved.
If not now, when?
Who would deliberately seek death if they could avoid it?
Having just discovered a new realm of pleasure, they certainly weren’t ready to die. As Elves, they still had six to seven hundred years ahead of them to explore new limits of happiness together.
However, as two draconic shadows swept overhead, not a single Elf cried out in their final monts. The Elves, who had been scattering in despair, suddenly seed less eager to flee.
Because there was another possibility.
As the Elves looked up, they indeed saw two figures: one robust, one lean, both crimson.
It was their Red Dragon Lord, David, and his new Red Dragon consort.
Of course, they only dared to gossip about this in their minds, not even with companions or close friends.
After all, these were Elves who had lived for hundreds of years. To whom could they truly confide?
Even sharing a al or shopping together could involve countless hidden sches and ntal chess.
Now that they were all prisoners of war, who knew if one might betray the others for freedom or to beco a free subject under a Dragon’s rule.
anwhile, David, looking rather displeased, and Lizrite, the female Dragon with an expression of novel curiosity and fearlessness, landed in the empty Green Dragon Nest perched on the cliff.
As for David, his sister hadn’t co this ti. Tania had gone to give their "empty-nester" mother, Pafila, so Elven specialties from the new continent of Dewensen to try.
After all, catching dragons was important, but keeping their Red Dragon mother in a good mood was equally vital.
Bribing her with snacks to stay ho and sleep soundly was a good strategy. It implicitly deterred threats to the sibling pair and was far better than her alternative: having nothing to do but eat, wander around, and occasionally beat up David for amusent.
"Looks like for the rest of this year, the only dragon you can rely on is ," Lizrite said.
After nearly a month of ’busy’ preparations, they had suddenly co up empty-handed. Yet, for so reason, Lizrite was inexplicably in a good mood, even finding the leisure to tease the clearly disgruntled David.
"Damn it! Did they pack up and move overnight just because I glared at them from the sky? Are these Green Dragons really that sensitive? Seriously?"
David was mid-curse when he suddenly rembered sothing. "Wait... could it be?"
He lifted his forelimb, took a strong sniff, then looked bewildered. Unwilling to accept it, he pressed Lizrite’s head against his neck. "There’s hardly any scent left! Sll it!"
"What are you doing? I haven’t agreed to this yet..." Lizrite instinctively struggled, suddenly forced into close contact with the Evil Dragon.
But as so subtle elents wafted into her nostrils, Lizrite froze, as dumbfounded as a cat that had just sniffed its master’s slly sock. Her mouth fell slightly agape, her hindquarters wriggled involuntarily, and her tail trembled.
Her expression shifted rapidly from initial shyness and resistance to shock, then ecstasy, and finally to a nymphomaniac-like enthrallnt. She draped her upper body over David, sniffing him wildly, stopping just short of licking him.
"Wow! It’s Lady Pafila’s scent! Let savor it, just a little longer!"
"Get lost!"
David, like a Scum Dragon who had already had his way, shoved the now-defenseless, infatuated female dragon aside with a claw, his face etched with an ’I knew it’ exasperation.
His mother had told the truth. ’Co here, don’t move. Let put a mark on you. This way, just like your sister Tania, no other dragons will dare provoke you.’
However, this scent marking was likely not obvious to young dragons whose pheromonal olfactory systems—their Jacobson’s organs—hadn’t fully developed.
But for adult dragons, this mark was akin to being ’red-nad’ in a legend.
Except for those with a grudge who could—and would—take imdiate revenge, most would give him a wide berth long before he even got close.
For the first ti, David truly felt how burdenso and heavy his mother’s ’love’ could be.
With this mark placed by the Crimson Calamity herself, it wasn’t just within her territory. Even now, standing outside Pafila’s domain, probably no dragon past its youth would dare approach him.
"Damn it! Let’s go, let’s go. This was a complete waste of ti," he cursed.
I’d better just go to the new continent, smuggle so ’munitions,’ and earn my first hoard as a dragon, he thought.
But just as David, still cursing and lashing his tail, was about to lead his underlings back to his territory, a lodious and soul-stirringly seductive voice drifted from the cave behind the empty Dragon Nest.
"My, my. If it isn’t the son of the Crimson Calamity, Prince David Uthos, gracing us with his presence. We have been remiss in our welco."
"On guard!"
Upon hearing this mature, dragon-enticing voice, the scales of both Red Dragons, David and Lizrite, bristled. They spun around sharply.
They stared incredulously at what should have been an empty cave, lowering their bodies, tails raised, claws bared, poised to fight a formidable enemy.
He truly hadn’t expected a Green Dragon to play a reverse empty-fortress stratagem on him.
From the vine-covered depths of the dark cave, two deep green glows slowly materialized, like eralds in the night. Their owner erged, speaking as she walked with elegant strides. She perford a respectful bow to David, in accordance with draconic etiquette from the Age of Dragons, completely ignoring Lizrite, who had begun to tremble instinctively beside him.
But before she could speak further, one of the High Elves, who had just struggled halfway up the mountainside carrying that heavy iron rod, yelled.
"Holy crap! The Green Dragon’s out! Run for it!!!"
The Elven prisoners of war, already suffering from PTSD due to Green Dragons, once again scattered like startled hamsters.
They fled in all directions.
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